Epiphany
by Aedammair
Summary: The Black Tapes Podcast. When you finally slow down and take the time to realize what you've been running from - or to - you're likely to find yourself smack dab in the middle of an inconvenient epiphany.


So earlier this summer, I stumbled across The Black Tapes podcast (truthfully, I'd been listening to Tanis for awhile and finally got around to listening to its predecessor) and I found myself oddly loving the tense relationship between Alex Reagan and Dr. Strand. What can I say - I have a thing for older men with salty attitudes. ;)

Not my characters, definitely my bottle of scotch.

* * *

She's two sips into her glass of scotch - a fine McCallan, 15 years old and apparently perfection in a bottle (according to Strand) - when Alex glaces to her right and notices the line of his jaw. Strand had let his beard get out of control during his "less than stable" period, but he'd recently trimmed it. It's revealed the sharp angle of the bone underneath, a jawline Alex hadn't actually paid much attention to.

Until now.

"Alex?"

She blinks, snaps her gaze away from Strand's face, and frowns to cover the embarrassment. She should have just gone home after Coralee left; it's late, she's exhausted from the months of insomnia, and her mouth is eventually going to say something her brain hasn't endorsed. She's relatively certain mortification is terminal.

"Sorry," she says. "I'm far more tired than I realized."

"I'm not surprised," he says, his tone softer than she's ever heard it. "It's nearly midnight."

This alarms her and she turns to look at him. "Really?" He lifts his wrist, shows her his watch. It's certainly approaching midnight, which means she's officially spent 16 hours with him. That's a record. "Sorry," she says again, uncertain why.

He stares at her, then, with an intensity she doesn't recognize. She feels like she's being studied, weighed and measure. She feels like she's being considered.

"When did you last sleep?" he asks. "And I mean real sleep - deep and sound and without interruption."

She wonders if he's been listening to the podcast, or maybe Nic's spoken to him about the insomnia. She can see her producer going to Strand for help with convincing her to take care of herself. Whatever the reason, it feels odd - Strand rarely takes notice of anything outside himself.

She doesn't realize she's said that last bit aloud until he frowns, his forehead creasing in a way that accentuates the damn angle of his jaw.

"Sorry," she says for a third time, shaking her head.

"I see you, Alex," he says and she feels her heart skip. "You may not think I do, but I see you. I...notice you."

Something in her chest pulls tight. Two years chasing monsters and she didn't realize until right now how badly she's wanted him to say that. It makes her ache.

"You get this crease in the corners of your mouth when you're mad at me," he says, not looking at her. "And when you're excited about something, your eyes go wide. They get brighter, too - like spring leaves when sunlight hits them."

The thing her chest pulls even tighter. She feels like he's opening a Pandora's Box, like they're crossing an invisible boundary line they've danced around for years. She feels like it's a point of no return, but she can't stop him. Her voice won't let her.

"The first time I met you, I thought you were the fiercest creature I'd ever seen. You scare me, Alex." At this, he turns his eyes to her and she forgets how to breathe. The expression there is more intense than any look he's given her while discussing cases, while arguing over Coralee, while fighting against the tide. "I'm not a romantic, a...lovestruck teenager. I'm just an old man with little to offer you, but…" He swallowed and she watched the line of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple. Her mouth went dry. "It's yours. Whatever I have - it's yours. If you'll have it."

She forces her brain to cooperate, to function, and it complies long enough to bring the glass of scotch to her lips. She finishes the remaining dregs in a single sip, sets the empty tumbler on the coffee table. She watches him watching her and it fills her with an odd sense of power - to command the attention of this man. It's a heddy feeling.

She stands, her mind made up, and as she rises his faces changes. He's packing away the raw vulnerability in preparation of a rejection that isn't coming. He breaks her heart, this man.

"Yes," she says, standing before him. His eyes snap up to hers, the surprise evident. She smiles. "Yes."

He holds his hand out to her and she takes it, coming willingly as he pulls her into his lap. She settles against him, smooths her fingers against the creases of his face. His eyes flutter closed and she kisses one eyelid, then the next.

She feels her chest release as his arms come around her. He opens his eyes, poses a question without speaking. She recognizes that look from their time in the hotel on Vancouver Island - he's been asking her all along.

"Yes," she says and kisses him. It feels like a memory, like she's done this a million times before.

It feels like coming home.


End file.
